


Monsters Need Monsters

by ArgusJade, murakistags



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Dreams and Nightmares, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Hannigram - Freeform, Knives, M/M, Major Character Death is FREDDIE, Memories, Murder, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Revenge, mentions of Abigail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 12:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8328076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgusJade/pseuds/ArgusJade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakistags/pseuds/murakistags
Summary: Will Graham had taken Freddie Lounds' promise at face value, that she wouldn't be so crass as to publish the tale of Abigail Hobbs' life and death. It seems that his faith was misplaced. Having settled down in hiding in the Irish countryside alongside Hannibal Lecter, Will has no intention of ushering darkness into himself again. Not even years after the brutal slaying of the Dragon.But when Will and Hannibal discover that there is a published best-seller floating about with Abigail's pretty face on the cover, Will is more than happy to draw some blood again. Hannibal is all too willing to encourage this vengeance. Will's intention, this time, is to truly and finally “slice the ginger.”—This is a work originally written as a turn-based Google Docs roleplay between murakisses (writing as Will Graham), and ArgusJade (writing as Hannibal Lecter).Tags will be updated as the story progresses.(*Major Character Death is only Freddie.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Edited and reviewed by both authors, but sometimes mistakes still manage to slip past us. Apologies for any errors.
> 
> Bon appétit.

It is late evening in the wooden house tucked into forest near a little town in Ireland, and both men had a long journey behind them in getting to this country. A half year after both had their fall, they needed much time to recover from it. Hannibal thought this country was the perfect place to hide for both.

 

On this particular evening, they are together in the living room. Even though they both were now living together for already half a year, they still had a few little problems with each other. Still, they were mostly left unspoken.

 

While Will is sitting on the sofa with a glass of whiskey in his hand, Hannibal just watches him. When his maroon gaze brushes over Will, a slight smile tugs on the corners of his lips.

 

“How was your day, outside around the local people? You were out for a long time… Did you find something interesting there?” Hannibal asked quietly and played absently with the pen in his hand before he continues to draw on the sketchpad upon his lap. With slight movements he almost finishes his latest artwork, lifting his gaze towards Will again.

 

Both have been inactive from their usual for a long time, and Hannibal doesn't know if Will would ever have interest to join in his… _ other _ activities. For Hannibal, it was almost a time again where he felt his hunger crawling under his skin, wanting to be satisfied. Sometimes he wished both of them would find more time together, closer. At other times, when they are close, to him it is a feeling he can barely explain.

 

When Will looks up at the doctor’s words, it's like one of those scenes from the movies. He's the typical patient sprawled across  _ the couch _ , the hot seat in front of the psychiatrist. Granted the situation is strange and something completely unlike something so professional and normal as an  _ actual _ doctor-patient relationship, it still is strangely reminiscent. Looking up and seeing the greying edges of Hannibal’s hair in the warm light of the room over the body of a crystal tumbler, the empath swallows hard. The burning taste of whiskey simmers over his tongue and down his throat sweetly, and he relishes in the tingling feeling it leaves. It always does well to put him to sleep, but these days it's a catalyst to staying awake.

 

“It was tiring,” Will says, honest and blunt.

 

Lowering the glass to rest on the wooden floor beside the couch, the ex-special agent gives a small shrug, a noncommittal noise very soft and brief. He's still not used to these dynamics, but at least he  _ is _ used to talking to Hannibal without pretense. Aside from that little deceptive dance they did just prior to the falling out in the doctor’s kitchen on that one fateful night, everything between them had been honest. Brutally honest, even, at times. It's a nostalgia that Will can't shake, no matter how he tries.

 

“I found…anxiety.”

 

Those tired words come along with a raising of the empath’s two calloused hands to his face, giving a rigorous rub of the scraggly skin there. His eyes close and his head gives a throb, and suddenly the heat of whiskey in his belly bubbles uncomfortably. Oddly enough, he can feel a twinge of nausea. It passes quickly, but leaves a decidedly sour taste in his mouth, along the backs of his teeth and palate. It's very clear within seconds that something is weighing on his mind, and he doesn't know how to broach it. Honesty and blatant regard aside, Will Graham sometimes still struggles with this. … _ This _ new life, these new meanings, and  _ Hannibal _ . He struggles with all of it, but more than anything his own thoughts.

 

“It’s overwhelming, honestly. Being around so many people again after so long. Just… _ feeling _ all of it…”

 

He trails off, leaving the air quiet and oddly charged. But suddenly the topic changes and the ex-agent is sitting up more fully on the couch, and staring across at Hannibal there nearby at his desk, a pencil in those hands just as equally skilled in surgery as they are in murder. Gesturing with palms together, Will’s dark brows furrow and his face scrunches mildly, unable to help himself with the sudden sombre attitude.

 

“Hannibal…?” Will begins, stepping into the tepid water as if expecting a shock any second now. “When’s the last time you spoke to Freddie Lounds?”

 

Everything around them changed slowly then, and Hannibal realizes it is best for him to take each step slowly and carefully. He knows they both need much time, but sometimes when he watches the other sleeping, he wishes he could sometimes just run his fingers through his brown curly hair. A slight sigh escapes Hannibal’s lips and he looks directly now to Will, pulled out of his own thoughts when he hears Freddie Lounds’ name. His expression instantly turns dark, not at all happy.

 

“The last time I spoke with her was quite a while ago. But I think you want to speak with me about something specific. Isn't that so?” Hannibal says quietly, focused. “I can see in your eyes that something bothering you. What is it Will?”

 

The cannibal knows very well  _ what it is _ . He had noticed the news while surfing through the internet, but he’d no idea how to speak with Will about it. After things happened in Baltimore, and they both survived, they had to take care for themselves. There was no place for what Freddie Lounds had made, but Hannibal always knew that if Will were to ever find out… Freddie would have to suffer for it.

 

“I…I spoke to Freddie, the morning before you killed–” Will stops himself, chest tightening painfully. His lashes flutter and his breath leaves him in a heave of a sigh, heavy and filled with unspoken amounts of repressed pain.

 

When he begins to speak again, the empath’s voice is lower and unsteady, aiding by a licking of his parched lips. It's hard, to look at Hannibal like this. But Will finds that he cannot look away. “…The morning before Abigail…died.”

 

The words sound lame on his tongue, sizzling into the air like bullets, but then quickly falling flat in a slow-motion of building terror.

 

“I told Freddie to write about me. I told her to write about  _ you _ . But I also told Freddie…to  _ not _ write about Abigail. ‘Let her rest in peace,’ I said. Because Abigail deserves that much and–…”

 

Tears build up in his eyes and they are filled with frustrations and anxiety. Will hates this, he hates how close he was to Abigail Hobbs and now he's so  _ far _ . It makes him feel sick and angry and suddenly he's really in a fight to prevent hot tears from falling down his face. He has to raise both hands again and rub at his eyes, heave in a shaky breath, and pause to collect himself.

 

Will can't help but murmur weakly then, voice sounding fragile as he suddenly feels:

 

“…Freddie wrote about her anyway. She– it’s a book. It's a goddamn  _ book _ , Hannibal, and she's selling it. I saw it today at the bookstore. I…I hate this. Abigail’s face is on the cover, and she looks…s-so happy, so  _ innocent _ and Freddie is just…–”

 

_ It's your fault, Will. _

 

“–It's my fault. It's all my–…I didn't know. I stood there with her years later in the same room to try and catch the Dragon, and I didn't know that Freddie would stoop so  _ low _ , to…–”

 

_ It's your  _ **_fault_ ** _. Do something about it.  _ **_Fix it._ **

 

“–I could kill her. I could kill Freddie, I'm so  _ angry _ .”

 

Hannibal’s body tensed immediately– to see Will like this almost broke Hannibal's heart. He knew it wouldn't be good if Will found out like this, but this reaction is more painful then he had ever imagined it could be. Slowly he stands up, not knowing how far he could dare to move close to Will. 

 

“I know it. I read it this morning. But after what I did to Abigail… I did not know how I should approach this topic with you. …Though I can feel your anger. You  _ are _ right: Freddie Lounds must die for this,” Hannibal says all at once, truths out in the open now.

 

Those words just hang shortly in the air until Hannibal moves to stand in front of Will. It is the first time that the cannibal dares to touch him in a tender way, not violent like it almost always used to be when they shared kind of closeness together in the past. Softly, he cups Will’s scraggly cheek and wipes away a tear with his thumb.

 

“She will pay for each word Will. That is my promise..” Hannibal now whispers, tries to look into Will's eyes. There in the blue he can see rage, great potential of what could be done with Freddie Lounds. She would experience suffering for each word about Abigail Hobbs. Though Hannibal’s own body tenses even more, he is able to keep his own rage far away. Nothing can be done right now, anyway, because they are in Ireland…and Freddie is in The United States of America. Whatever they decide to do would need to be thoroughly planned, before anything could happen in this case.

 

Will allows the man to approach him. He allows the weight to settle in his veins that Hannibal  _ knew _ about this but did not discuss it with him. Will allows the pain to ebb and flow, those lithe fingertips to brush away tears as Hannibal’s palm cups his face. But what the empath  _ doesn't _ allow is one thing, one that fills his every pore with rage so hot that he swears he can see red at the corners of his vision.

 

“You don't get to say her name,” Will seethes softly, voice dropping to a hushed whisper in the tearful, painful ambiance. Standing from the couch, whiskey forgotten, he looks up into Hannibal’s maroon eyes. His own blue eyes are overflowing with salty tears, thick and translucent as they bubble up and drip away slowly. Other times he might have faltered, but not now. Not when the paternal instinct he feels for that blue-eyed, dark-haired girl is so potent.

 

“You don't get to talk about Abigail. Don't you  _ dare _ say her name, Hannibal. Or I-I swear, I’ll…”

 

He’ll…do what? Hurt Hannibal? Is that a  _ threat _ ?

 

On some level, it truly is. Because now that Will and Hannibal are together and of equal standing, it's no longer about being goaded and manipulated. It's about equality and seeing one another entirely, but it is also about give and take. Will is tired of giving his all, and he's going to take and demand some things of his own. Starting with this, that causes him so much pain that his quiet breathing is uneven and horrid.

 

“I don't care what it takes. I want Freddie Lounds,” Will whispers, gently swatting away Hannibal’s hand from his skin, and inhaling a deep breath. Pulling away from the doctor with a repressed sort-of rage, he hastily rubs at his crying eyes in frustration, and bends to pluck his whiskey glass from the floor again. The remaining honey-brown alcohol is swallowed in one thick gulp. At the rate this night is going, Will might need another goddamn bottle.

 

Will's words hit Hannibal hard and he knows that it won’t be easy between them both if it would come to certain topics like _Abigail Hobbs._ Hannibal never expected it to be easy. His body immediately tenses after the direct threat, and he takes a deep breath, steps away from the empath. 

 

“Is this something I will have to face forever? Did you ever truly forgive me?” Hannibal says evenly, fighting to keep defensive hurt from his voice. “…I will let you alone now with your whiskey, and we can talk tomorrow. Perhaps then your mind will be better suited to discuss this.”

 

He doesn't want a fight with Will, but Hannibal wants also to be able to do and discuss everything with him. But there is no change tonight. Hannibal turns then, and is just about to leave the room, if only to give Will adequate space so that he could deal with his rage about Freddie. …And perhaps his rage towards Hannibal as well, because the doctor had dared to talk about Abigail. Hannibal stops shortly in the doorway then, just a moment before making to turn into the hallway. However…

 

“My mind is perfectly damn fine where it is tonight,” Will retorts with a bit of an open scowl, nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale. Rolling the empty crystal tumbler between his fingers, the empath takes a moment to pause and stand his ground, but also think. He takes another deep breath, gives his watering eyes a blink and another hard rub with the pads of his thumbs and index and middle fingers. He stands there feeling and looking a little defeated a moment later.

 

Barely, just  _ barely _ , beneath his breath, Will whispers…more to himself than anything else:

 

“I still dream about Abigail.”

 

The words drift away on the wind, so smoothly and swiftly like the way her spirit left this life, jolted from the hand of a man she perhaps trusted. The very man who Will now stands before and understands and on some level wishes he  _ didn't _ . But he  _ does _ , and Will  _ likes _ it. Will feels like a hell of a monster, too. A gross, grotesque thing that eats his own flesh from the inside out, starting with his thoracic cavity and his heart in particular. It feels ripped right out of his chest, and guilt comes into play, too. Steadying his voice, Will gestures and begins to also step from the room, but not to sleep. It's instead to drift downstairs to the den and grab that whiskey bottle from the liquor cabinet again. He really will need another drink or five tonight. Really, he will.

 

“I once said I forgive you. I don't take that back, because I  _ do _ forgive you. Doesn't mean we pretend that never happened.  _ I'm _ not pretending.  _ You _ may have to, but I don't. And that doesn't mean you can just–…j-just  _ justify _ what happened, either. She deserves better than that,” Will exhales deeply, drifting past the doctor as he watches the other man move off down the hall after a pause in the doorway. Will, on the other hand, turns the corner and pauses at the head of the stairs, rubbing at his forehead and red eyes tiredly, heart heavy and legs feeling quite like lead.

 

“It's my fault, anyway. I couldn't protect her. Even in the end, Abigail chose  _ you,  _ Hannibal…not me.” With those last few whispered words, Will runs a hand through his messy curls, and patters his bare feet down the staircase, glass in hand and throat and chest burning for more alcohol to soothe his nerves.

 

Before Hannibal could even reach his own room down the hall, Will had followed him out of the study with vicious words. The pain almost rips Hannibal's heart from his chest, to see him like this. Hannibal’s own eyes are now filled with unshed tears, but he doesn't respond quickly to Will. More tears fill Hannibal's eyes by the second, and he swallows his feelings down, the sour feelings from the night when he had decided to kill Abigail Hobbs. His mind felt dizzy, and leans gently against the wall, rubs his forehead while watching the young empath closely, the one man who almost suffered in the same way as Hannibal himself…but much more. Hannibal was the one who took their child away from them, after all. He swallows hard again, and more words leave Will's lips, hitting the cannibal so painfully well.

 

“Stop. Just stop it, Will,” Hannibal begins, waiting for pause to speak, feeling entirely more hurt than he sounds. “I know I took her away from you. I killed her, and I can't go back in time and change my decision. I cannot. …I must deal with it, the fact that I took our opportunity of a family away.”

 

The air is so tense and thick with bloody memories, but still Hannibal goes on: “But now we are here. Tell me I should go, and I will go away and for this night leave you alone. I can tell you, however, I  _ don't _ wish to leave you alone. I need you more than anything, and we must talk. I so want that I could change that one night, but I cannot, Will. You made your choices, as I did mine.”

 

Now it was Hannibal who follows Will down to the den in silence. He can't hold back his tears anymore, and gently he takes into his hands a crystal glass and pours himself a strong drink. His expression is sad. Both men had suffered in their own ways, but they had to deal with it especially after Freddie Lounds book. They need to work as team.

 

Still, his body is tensed, the striking last sentence from Will hanging in the air. Hannibal doesn't say anything of it, because he knows it would make everything entirely worse. Abigail _did_ choose him, and that is also something he can't change. 

 

“I need you Will.” It is shortly very quiet in the room, and Hannibal has turned his head towards the empath, hoping that the other needed him too in the same way. 

 

_ I need you _ .

 

Those words echo painfully in the space of air thick with emotion and pain. All of it makes Will’s head spin, his chest feel heavy, and his eyes prickle with fresh tears every two seconds. It's horrible, all of it. But Hannibal is right in what he said: it can't be changed. Nothing Will Graham can say or do will change the fact that Dr. Hannibal Lecter fatally slit the throat of Abigail Hobbs in a Baltimore kitchen, on that fateful night. Nothing will change that in spite of him trying to put pressure on the wound as his own vision faded to black, Will couldn't save her. He couldn't stop the bleeding. He couldn't stop hallucinating her. Will still cannot stop dreaming of her. He orphaned her, and then killed her.

 

_ I'm a monster _ .

 

“I need you too,” Will whispers so softly that it's lost in the clink of whiskey bottle to crystal glass, filling another generous two fingers of the spirit.

 

Monsters need monsters. Birds of a feather flock together.

 

Before long he and Hannibal share that drink quietly, standing there apart from one another. Will has one hand wrapped around his midsection, tears in his eyes as he downs half the glass with barely more than a grunt and scowl. It sizzles into his belly and he enjoys it. It keeps him awake and jolted, but a bit numb. Just how he likes it.

 

“…You're right. Nothing will change it. So no use dwelling on it,” Will says after a long moment, raising one hand to run a hand through his curly brown hair. His voice is thicker, darkened by the whiskey.

 

“If you wanted to hurt me, Hannibal, you managed to do it really well. But then again…quid pro quo. I forced your hand.”

 

Shrugging it off, Will drifts away and finds his legs heavy as lead, his body dropping into a seat at the end of the den’s couch like a lifeless rag doll. The sound of his glass hitting the tabletop echoes loudly in the charged silence, but it doesn't perturb him. Will merely braces elbows on his thighs and leans forward to bury his face into his palms, feet flat on the floor and back hunched. That's when he exhales deeply, voice just… _ tired _ .

 

“All the more reason to  _ really _ slice the fucking ginger.”

 

The urge to hold Will grows with each sentence from him, with each move, each teardrop. Everything shows Will's pain and Hannibal wants to hold him. When Will is sitting on the couch and exhaling tiredly, looking lost, the cannibal doesn't take very long to consider following him. He approaches Will carefully, without saying a word. Sometimes a gesture is more meaningful than a word, and that is now the case. Without saying a word–perhaps only a slight noise left his lips– Hannibal carefully wraps one arm around the young empath's shoulder, pulling him close against his chest. Oh, how he’s needed him. The other is the other half of his soul… For so long, he thought he could run away from this connection between them, but this night here in the den, Hannibal actively shows him the opposite of futile retreat. He needs Will Graham, and it’d taken him almost too long to notice it. Carefully, and with a slight tender movement,  he runs his fingers through Will’s curly hair, and tries to calm him down. 

 

“We will do it. I promise you.” Hannibal’s voice is only a whisper, and he keeps Will close. Even though he was the reason that Will had lost Abigail, it wasn't only Will who had lost. Hannibal lost on that night as well, and his pain would be there until he dies. Will had betrayed him, too. It is now a part of Hannibal, and he had started to accept this pain in little steps since. This evening was still not over and he didn't know where it would lead them both, but Hannibal knows for a fact that for all of this night, he wouldn't move away from Will. He will stay, go through this with him no matter what. 

 

“I’m going to stay the night with you. Will you allow me to do that…?” Hannibal quietly looks down at the man in his arms, voice fading to moments of silence.

 

Hannibal makes him such a nice little promise, and is suddenly at Will’s side to pull him close into that firm chest. And so as mad and upset as Will wants to be, he just  _ can't _ . He can't find it in him to be at all too upset at Hannibal at all tonight, and it's because of the alcohol, because of the pain. Will is just tired, so very tired that he can't fight away any of it. He's a match for Hannibal, yes, but at the end of the day he still cannot fight and push away entirely that which he completely understands inside and out. He and Hannibal are one, became one and the same during that fall.

 

The keloid scar along the inside of his cheek feels thick and grainy, his tongue brushing over the raised skin as a painful reminder of their Slaying of the Dragon. A pungent taste of whiskey on his tongue, the feeling is strange as it is being enveloped so tightly into an embrace by Hannibal. It's warm and comfortable and even against his better judgement, he is embracing the warmth. When fingers brush through his curls, Will just allows himself to melt into Hannibal, and allows a half-choked sob to escape his lips and muffle into the fabric of the doctor's shirt. But the strangled noise of emotional pain is short and quick, vanishing to silence and just a shaky breath. Hands fuel into fists in Will’s lap, his tightly closed eyes fight to hold back a fresh wave of fat tears.

 

“P-Please stay with me,” Will says, resting his head into Hannibal in the very same manner he did right before he'd pulled them both from the cliff and into the ragged seas of the Atlantic Ocean. It's needy and that's perhaps exactly what Hannibal wants…but it is also a fact that Will can't help but reach out now. Even so long ago, this psychiatrist was the only one who could help him, who could guide him and allow Will to understand and survive even the darkest corners of himself.

 

Then, softer still into Hannibal’s shirt, the empath buries his face and whispers:

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

This evening has already turned into something that both had never experienced before: an intimate closeness. The words from Will's lips cause a warm feeling in Hannibal's chest. The cannibal was used to so much darkness around himself, but this man caused slivers of light to flow into his life. A slight smile appeared on Hannibal’s lips, and he couldn't help but place a soft and doting kiss on the top of Will’s head. Hannibal wouldn't let him go for a second. Softly, he pulls them both down on the sofa, and wraps arms more tightly around Will. A warm feeling from his chest rushes like a wave throughout his body. 

 

“I’m sorry too, Will.” He whispers and places another kiss against the empath’s forehead, hands caressing softly down his back. “I will stay close tonight, and keep you with me. To merely hold you all night…is what I wish for us. Only tonight. Tomorrow, you can still push me away if that is what you want.”

 

He doesn't want Will to push away him again, but it’s a real possibility and one that Hannibal is willing to accept if need be. They had never talked about specifics of what it would meant to run away together, and they never talked about Hannibal's feelings even remotely. Until now, it was not the right moment for it. His heart is alive, beating fast against his chest. It was almost too long ago that Hannibal last had someone else this close. 

 

Tomorrow both had to find out how they could get Freddie Lounds to Ireland, and after only a few minutes of quiet thinking then, while holding Will tight in his arms, Hannibal thinks up an a idea. He doesn't speak it aloud, though. Perhaps it would work and Will finally would get his revenge on Freddie, and what she wrote about Abigail. Good things in due time. 

 

But for now, the closeness is so much appreciated on this night. Will is shaken, visibly upset, and so is Hannibal. If they'd both pulled away from one another entirely, it would be like a rending of galaxies, the recoil so severe that both men would suffer great loss and pain. Both man cannot gravitate away, however, and soon Will finds himself pressed into Hannibal. Being this close to another male about his age is…strange. It's not uncomfortable, but it's weird, and different than anything he's used to. It'll definitely take some getting used to, but strangely with Hannibal is just feels… _ right _ . Will Graham liked women, that's how it worked. That's how it always was. …Until he met Hannibal. Even then, Will doesn't crave any male, none other than this one here. It's a strange emotion that tingles through his veins silently, fills him with warmth and some level of comfort as he presses head to Hannibal’s chest for the second time since they slayed the Dragon. He listens to that heartbeat pick up speed, and he revels in it. Such a strength, unspoken.

 

Without giving much thought to it at all, even considering the circumstances and that bright-eyed beautiful freckled face fresh at the forefront of his mind, Will closes his eyes and exhales shakily. He whispers the very words that Abigail had once said, to both of them:

 

“I'm worried about nightmares.”

 

And it's true. Now more than ever, he's worried. But Will can't help but think that if he can make it through the night beside Hannibal, he can begin to plot, think, devise. Freddie Lounds’ blood will quell some of his inner anger and ravenous nightmares. Will only needs to survive so much longer more, until some closure can be afforded. Beyond that, he and Hannibal need to bit sit down and have a solid discussion about all of… _ this _ . All of it.

 

Nuzzling his cheek into Hannibal’s chest, Will raises one hand to lazily wipe stray tears from one of his scraggly-haired cheeks. The whisky makes his movements languid and slow and quiet, repressed but eventful all the same. His mind swims slightly and the empath embraces it. Even if he hadn't had a drop to drink, he thinks that being so physically close to Hannibal like this is more than enough to intoxicate him entirely. As small as he feels, Will can also feel… _ stability _ . Stability in the form of the man he merely holds close for a few moments longer.

 

Hannibal's mind is completely with Will all the time, and he is at this point more stable even though he feels the same crushing pain as Will. Softly, Hannibal caresses brown curls and places another kiss to his head, nuzzling him softly. 

 

“I will be there, no matter the nightmare you might have. I will hold you tightly, and you will sleep peacefully next to me,” Hannibal promises, voice now a whisper as he tries to move with the young empath, so that they would find their way to Hannibal's bedroom. For Hannibal, on this night it is important that he could give Will everything that is needed, even if that meant merely to sleep next to him, giving him a safe feeling, being that anchor. When the cannibal rolls away to couch’s edge, he stands up and holds out his hand towards the young empath. It is a incredibly feeling that they share for this moment, precious for them both.

 

The kiss against Will’s head feels full of respect and warmth, and understanding. It's a closeness that Will never knew that he'd craved so much up until this point in his life. The fall had rattled him all up, and this is the wake of it. Now comes the brunt of the inten storm, so to speak. The empath embraces it fully, just as he embraces the doctor, and takes his hand.

 

_ Where else would I go _ ?

 

Standing from the couch and tightly holding the doctor’s hand in his own, Will hovers close and follows the other male to the bedroom. It’s Hannibal’s bedroom, to be exact, and Will feels strange entering it like this. Like he's impeding on Hannibal’s space, and that he doesn't belong in such a neat and elegant place, next to such an elegant man. Will Graham is all scruff and grease, ragged edges and instability…what a completely opposite creature to Hannibal, he is.

 

“Hannibal? …Do you ever have nightmares?”

 

He wonders. About his past, about times they've spent apart, about all those crimes, about the times in prison…does any of it cause the cannibalistic psychiatrist to lose sleep at night? Will asks so softly to glean insight, as they dip into the bedroom together to once again curl into each other and snuggle to sleep.

 

It was only a few steps along the corridor until they stand in front of Hannibal's bedroom. Slowly Hannibal opens the door with one hand, the other still holding Will’s hand, brushing his thumb slightly against back of palm. When they moved inside Hannibal closes the white painted wooden door behind them, and his gaze brushes softly over the empath's body. The question left Hannibal swallowing, and he then began to take off his shirt and pants to make himself comfortable for bed. No shame to be had.

 

“Yes, sometimes I have nightmares,” Hannibal answers honestly. “But that is not the cause of my inability to sleep deeply, or for very long periods of time. So you can sleep peacefully, Will, and I will watch over you.”

 

Now he just crawls into the bed and waits for Will to follow him, so that he could snake his arms tightly around him yet again, sweetly feel that warm body against his own. Never had both men slept together like this, so it was their first time sharing a bed in this manner. Hannibal, though loathe to admit, is slightly nervous at the shifting dynamics, but without showing it the uncertainties. His heart beats fast the feeling as if it’ll jump right out of his chest.

 

“I have to admit, I often think of holding you, and feeling your body pressed against mine,” Hannibal says, so soft and struck by awe as he watches Will ready to join him.

 

“Sounds a little creepy when you put it like that,” Will jokes faintly, shifting awkwardly to remove his own shirt (with a slight hesitation), and his pants as well. Boxer shorts are his usual sleepwear, so that's comfortable for him. That's how he watches Hannibal with interest, and can't look away. Hannibal might have seen Will naked many times, but Will had never seen Hannibal in a state of undress. Not like this. It's like a rare glimpse into something new and incredible. Will finds very quickly that he not only doesn't mind this at all, he  _ likes _ it. He hadn't expected that at all, but look at it now…

 

“You need sleep too, you know. You're a doctor– I shouldn't have to tell you that,” he teases again, though a little more firmly, addled with alcohol and exhaustion in his body.

 

Hesitating at the side of the bed, the curly-haired eventually slips down into the bed, sliding across the soft covers to rest his head on the pillow, curl arms in front of him while lying on his side and facing Hannibal. In the dimness of the comfortable room, had inhales the fresh smell of detergent, musk, cologne, soap…it all smells so strongly of Hannibal. It nearly lulls him into sleep right then and there, but there is fire in his veins and nervousness in his belly. His heart also beats hard in anticipation and uncertainty. Quietly now, he whispers and meets Hannibal’s gaze in the dark.

 

“It's so weird that I'm here, now. You can hold me, I'm here,” Will whispers in awe, shifting minutely closer to the other male for an embrace he's afraid to start. Hannibal will have to take the lead in all things along these lines, because the empath is so unused to this and very inexperienced.

 

In all of his almost-naked body filled with scars and wounds and lines and the like, there Will is, next to the man who gutted him, loved him, still holds him close. It's like a strangely hellish heaven.

 

When Hannibal heard Will’s tease, a slight smirk appears on his lips, and he even raises an eyebrow at the comment. He pulls back the duvet, making space for the younger man to join him beneath.

 

“Yes, I’m a doctor. And yes, you are right.” When Will was almost close to him, Hannibal could feel even warmer than he’d felt before. He closes his eyes and clearly feels Will's unflappable presence.

 

It isn't a dream anymore. It is real.

 

After his words, Hannibal doesn't immediately move closer, at first only reaching his hand towards Will’s face and brushing hair out of his face. Only then does he move closer and open his arms for Will to come to him. 

 

“I’m nervous that everything of the past few years is going to rush over me, all of my desires and wishes.” Hannibal admits in the dim room, warm against the sheets and in the intimacy of the moment alone. It’s a far cry from the sterile, frigid cell of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and that is precisely what so suddenly sparks such a confession

 

When Hannibal feels the young man against his own almost entirely bare body, the feeling causes a shiver down his spine. His pulse is racing with each minute touch of skin, his heart skipping beats so uncharacteristically. Hannibal’s hands are then on Will’s hips, just holding him there. Maroon eyes met sea blue eyes and it doesn't take a second for Hannibal to begin losing himself in Will. Everything around them is quiet and dull, and only their breaths and the quiet shifting of blankets, is to be heard. Arms encompass Will around the waist, another respectful kiss delivered to the empath’s forehead.

  
“I'm nervous as hell, too,” Will admits, curling into the bed beneath the blankets and moving closer to the man next to him. Laying down and looking into Hannibal’s eyes, his pulse races and he heaves a very deep breath. The arms wrapping at his waist are strange, but he welcomes it. Will moves closer, allowing his gaze to look curiously over the doctor’s face in close proximity. One of his own hands comes up, and before he can think twice, the empath is gently brushing stray strands of light hair from Hannibal’s forehead and face.


End file.
